


Operation Christmas

by sandy_s



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-08 06:32:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5487134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandy_s/pseuds/sandy_s
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rating: PG-13</p><p>Disclaimer: I own nothing. All belongs to Joss.</p><p>Summary: Set after “Wrecked” in Season Six. Spike always keeps his promises, especially to Summers women. (Mostly Spike and Dawn with hints of Spike/Buffy)</p><p>Author’s Note: This is a short fic for noel_of_spike on LJ!</p><p>Dedication: For Angie and Leigh Anne…Merry Christmas! And special thanks to Sue for organizing the community!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Buffy, I’ll be fine.” 

“You should come with me.” 

Buffy and Dawn are standing in the kitchen, and hands on her hips, Buffy is watching her little sister as she flits around. 

With her free arm, Dawn reaches in the cabinet and gathers up two coffee mugs with her one hand to prove just how fine she’ll be. “But Janice is coming over for hot chocolate and studying. We won’t be able to concentrate at the Magic Box. Plus, if you’re worried that I need company, she’ll be here. And Willow will be with you guys, so no need to worry about her doing something like taking me out and breaking my arm.”

“That’s it. You’ve convinced me.” The mirth in Buffy’s tone overlays how exhausted and sad Dawn knows she is underneath. Dawn just wishes she knew why. 

“Seriously.” Dawn really really wants some alone time. Buffy has been way too hover-y since she has a cast and a broken bone. Dawn moves to the pantry and brings out the hot chocolate mix, snagging the edge of the bag of marshmallows with her pinky and ring finger. 

“Let me talk with Janice,” Buffy insists.

Dawn gives her a look that says, “Really?” 

Buffy sighs and slips a stake up her sleeve. Then, she kisses her sister on the cheek. “Okay, fine.” 

“Yay!” Dawn does a short little dance of joy. 

“But if you need anything. . . anything at all, call the Magic Box. Don’t try to solve any mysteries on your own. After all, it’s not Tuesday.” Buffy opens the back door. 

Dawn nods. Tuesday is Christmas, and today is Saturday, but she doesn’t think her big sister realizes that. “Got it. No Scooby-Doo’ing.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, too!” Dawn tries not to sound overly eager for her sister to go away.

As soon as the door shuts, Dawn’s dance of joy becomes a whirling, high energy jig all around the kitchen island. She grins as she manages to rip open the bag of marshmallows, popping two of the tiny bits of sweetness in her mouth. Then, a little out of breath, she sashays over to the phone and dials the number for her favorite pizza place. It may be a bad day to get into trouble, but it’s never a bad day for pepperoni.

* * *

Spike hears the rumble of thunder and sticks his hand out of the doorway of his crypt. Only a few droplets hit his palm, and the breeze feels colder, signaling an impending cold front. The sky is darker than usual because of the impending storm, but so far, only sprinkles, so he’s determined. He made a promise last summer, and he’s kept his promises since he was human. That’s a long time to keep promises, and he has no intention of starting a new trend. He is, after all, a creature of habit. Shoving his hands in the pockets of his leather duster, he emerges from his crypt and heads toward the Summers house.

* * *

Spike is unsure who might be home, so he climbs the tree to the Nibblet’s window. He spies her sitting on the floor of her room, counting money. He frowns, deciding this is an odd activity for her to be doing. Balancing on the thickest tree branch, he gently raps on the raindrop dotted glass. 

Dawn’s head jerks up, and her expression is one of alarm, but when she recognizes Spike, she pushes herself up and awkwardly shoves open the window with one hand. 

“What’re you doing here?” Dawn tries not to sound annoyed. After all, this is Spike. She can never be too annoyed with him.

“Coming by to see you. Or is that allowed anymore?” He’s more amused than anything else.

She smiles. “I’m counting money.”

“I can see that, Bit, but why?” 

“For pizza. I’m starving.”

“Don’t know how you lot survive on that stuff.”

“Thought you liked pizza. You ate enough of it with me last summer.”

Spike shrugs. “Was keeping you company.”

A light wind pushes past Spike into the Dawn’s bedroom, and goose bumps race over her arm. “It’s getting cold. Come in and hurry.” 

Spike gracefully eases his way into the warmer room. “Your sis or Red home?” 

Dawn unsuccessfully tugs on the metal window frame. “N-nope.”

Spike nudges her aside and easily shuts the glass. “Good.”

“Good? Willow, I get because well. . .” She holds up her broken arm in a “no duh” gesture. “But don’t you want to see Buffy?” 

“Well, yeah. But not tonight. I’m here to see you.” Spike picks up the money off the floor and counts it. 

“Me? What for? I’m fine!” Dawn slumps on her bed. “Actually, I was hoping for some time alone.” 

Spike pulls a wad of crumpled money out of his pocket and fishes out a five-dollar bill, adding it to Dawn’s pizza money. “Well, it’s almost Christmas, and I made you a promise.”

Dawn takes the proffered money. “What promise? And thank you!” She lifts up the stack with a smile. She has enough to even leave a tip now.

Spike isn’t surprised that she doesn’t remember. He made the promise one of the nights she was upset about losing Buffy and was worrying about all the things that she would miss about her sister in the upcoming year. . . all the anniversaries that are so painful when you lose a loved one. “I promised you that I’d help you set up the house for Christmas.”

Excitement lights Dawn’s eyes. “Really?”

Spike smiles. “Yeah, pet. It’s almost Christmas, isn’t it? And let me guess, Buffy hasn’t gotten a tree yet.” 

“No! I don’t even think she’s remembered it’s on Tuesday!” Dawn bounces. “Are we going to go pick out a tree?”

“Of course!” Why else would he have walked all the way over here? 

Dawn emits a little squeal of delight. . . something that makes Spike’s heart melt, not that he would ever tell anyone. “After the pizza gets here.”

“After the pizza gets here,” he affirms. 

Dawn throws her arms around his mid-section, and Spike awkwardly pats her shoulder as she continues bouncing a little. “Yay!”

* * *

After the pizza arrives and is consumed and the leftovers are safely tucked away in the crowded refrigerator, Spike and Dawn head to the front porch. The air temperature has significantly dropped, and the lightning and thunder are still trading spaces, but the rain remains only a light drizzle. 

“You have to wear it,” Spike insists, thrusting the bit of plastic at Dawn.

“But I don’t want to.” Dawn crosses her arms, trying to out-stubborn the vampire. Little does she know, he has years of practice at winning this game. 

“We’re not going anywhere until you put it on.”

“But I’ll look so stupid.”

Spike clenches his jaw. What is it about teenaged girls and appearances? “Looking stupid is better than ruining your cast and having to go back to the ER for a new one.” Spike doesn’t want to explain that to Buffy either. 

“Yeah, you say that only ‘cause you don’t have to wear it over a heavy coat. I’m going to look ginormous like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. What if I run into someone I know?”

“Anyone you know is safely at home tucked in bed on a night like this.” He pauses. “Or they should be if they don’t want to get eaten or worse.”

Dawn juts out her chin. “Fine.” She snatches the poncho, and Spike helps her pull it over her head. “Hate being dressed like I’m four.”

Spike remembers being helpless in the wheelchair with Drusilla looking after him and thrusting puppies in his face. “I don’t blame you.”

Dawn glares at him from beneath her plastic hood and says in her most grumpy voice, “Let’s go.” She stomps down the front steps and heads down the sidewalk. “And we’re not solving any mysteries!”

With no idea what she’s talking about, Spike grins. “All right then. No mysteries.”

The closest Christmas tree lot is in the parking lot of the grocery store two miles away, and somehow Spike and Dawn make it without experiencing a deluge from the sky and without Dawn freezing to death. For once, she is grateful for California winters. On the other hand, Spike wishes that he still had his car. A car would make Christmas tree hauling much easier.

A huge tent is set up, and Dawn sees evergreen branches sticking haphazardly out of from behind the tarp. She can even smell the distinctive scent of pine, and this warms her more than any combination of coat and plastic. Spike is amused when a little skip finds its way into her gait. 

Spike spies a man sitting on a stool leaning against one of the tent poles. “Well, pet, looks like they’re still open.”

“Looks like. Unlike the grocery store.” Dawn was vaguely wishing the store would be open so she could take advantage of the heat, but now that the trees are a reality, she doesn’t care.

They almost reach the tent’s entrance when Spike holds out a hand in front of Dawn. “Hold on.”

Dawn doesn’t question her vampire companion. Over the summer, she learned how his voice sounds, and right now, he’s serious and worried. She halts as Spike slowly approaches the Christmas tree salesman. 

Spike reaches out and touches his warm shoulder, and the man’s body tilts, his head lolling to one side. Dawn’s eyes grow round as she takes in the teeth marks and the fresh blood rolling in streaks down the man’s neck. 

Spike props the man back up, feeling for a pulse and finding none. His senses on high alert, he peers into what he now realizes is an unusual darkness in the cluster of trees. Holding his hand up toward Dawn to signal her to stay, he plunges into the tent. 

Dawn hovers on the outside next to the dead body, and when straining to see doesn’t do anything, she trains her ears on the inside of the tent. A loud scuffling and the sounds of punches being thrown fills her ears, and she commands her heart to slow down so that her heart beat isn’t thundering in her ears. She’s hoping that Spike is managing the situation because she doesn’t know what she’ll do if he isn’t. 

She suddenly remembers that she’s a Summers girl and shouldn’t be unprepared, but she didn’t bring a stake like Buffy’s always nagging her to do. She decides she better improvise and spies a thick branch snaking out from under one side of the tent. Hurrying over, she uses her foot to crunch down on the branch. She has to repeat the motion a few times before the wood breaks free from the tree. 

Picking up the wood with her good hand, she smiles at it, feels guilty, and turns to the owner. “Sorry for breaking your tree.”

A cool, strong arm circles her waist, and alarmed, she screams and tries to swing her makeshift stake in vain. The jacket and poncho really are hindering her movements. 

“Pet. Calm down!” growls a familiar voice. “Stop it before you stake me!”

“Oh.” She immediately drops the branch. “Spike!”

He lets her go, and she stumbles a bit on the concrete. “You really should pay more attention to your surroundings. Buffy should be working with you on that now that you’re older. I snuck up on you with ease.”

“I was improvising.” Dawn shoves long hair that’s escaped around her hood back in place. “See. . . a stake.”

“Good one,” Spike acknowledges. “You just have to pay attention to the rest of what’s going on around you when you do the improvising.”

“Did you get him?” 

Spike crosses his arms. “Her. And yes. She’s good and staked. Now you get to pick out a tree.”

“What about the owner?”

“Not much we can do now. Someone will find him in the morning. No use getting ourselves involved in something that would only bring us more trouble.”

Dawn thinks about this for a moment. He’s right. She doesn’t like it, but he is. “Can we at least move him inside out of the weather?”

Spike sighs. “Sure, pet.”

“And leave money for the tree?”

“Why should we leave perfectly good money for. . .”

Dawn raises both eyebrows at him and tries but fails to cross her arms. “You *were* going to pay for the tree, right?”

The cash in Spike’s pocket is allotted for the tree for Buffy and Dawn, but he really could use the money for other things if the owner’s dead. The look on Dawn’s face makes him hesitate. “Fine. We’ll leave it.”

“Good. He might have a family who could use it.” 

“Or whoever finds him will pocket it.”

Her eyes flash with resolve. “Well, we can say we tried, and I’m going to count the money.”

Spike rolls his eyes. “Just pick out a tree.” He strides over and flicks the lights back on inside the tent. 

“Any tree?” Her voice trails behind her and is full of wonder as she enters the throng of Christmas trees.

“Hey. Don’t blame me when you have to look at the price tags.” Spike bends to haul the man into the shelter. 

True to her word, Dawn chooses a tree based on the amount of money in Spike’s pocket minus a twenty that she slaps back into his palm. “For blood.”

“Gee, thanks, Bit.”

“A vamp’s gotta eat, right?” She turns back to her chosen evergreen. “I love this one. It’s just tall enough for the living room and for us to reach all the branches for decorating, and it’s nice and full of needles.”

“Let’s get her home.”

Dawn beams at him, and as she does, the bottom finally drops. Rain pours down around them, emitting a loud sound as the water hits the plastic of the tent. 

Spike groans. He and the tree are going to get soaked. 

Now it’s Dawn’s turn to sigh. “Sure am glad I decided to wear that poncho.”

TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

Somehow Dawn finds a large swath of dry plastic thrown behind some of the trees. With effort and team work, she and Spike manage to finagle the plastic around the tree and tie it closed with twine that they discover in the owner’s money box. Spike uses his fangs to cut the string. His hope that the rain will stop by the time they finish this infernal job is for naught, and with his charge and his purchase protected from the water, he guides them home through the storm. 

“You’re soaked,” Dawn observes as Spike leans his burden against the front of the house. 

Spike scowls. “No sh. . . kidding, Sherlock.”

“You know you can curse around me. I’m not a kid anymore.” 

“Bollocks. Buffy’d have my head.”

Dawn giggles. “Over that? I doubt it. Besides she’s not here. She’s in research mode at the Magic Box with the rest of everyone else.”

“Where’s the tree stand?” Spike starts to help Dawn out of the wet poncho. 

“In the basement.” Dawn’s voice is muffled as the poncho goes over her head. “I can set it up while you take a shower.” 

They enter the house with Spike holding the door for Dawn. He hesitates on the bottom step of the staircase. “What’ll I wear? I didn’t exactly bring a change of clothes, and no way I’m fitting in anything you birds wear. Plus, not exactly my style.”

Dawn’s eyes light as she remembers something. “Mom kept a box of Dad’s old clothes. Back of her closet on the top shelf. It’s the only box that’s not labelled. We can throw yours in the laundry.”

“All right.” Spike squelches up the stairs.

Dawn sloughs off her coat in relief and readjusts her sling. She hurries downstairs to search the basement for the tree bottom. She shivers in the cool underground room but easily finds her target, wresting the metal object from amongst a pile of boxes on one of the shelves. One of the boxes spills onto the floor but luckily doesn’t open. She shrugs and makes a little “oh well” sound and bounds back up the stairs. 

She shoves furniture around in the living room with her hip, making a space for the tree and a path for Spike to bring in the tree. Then, she sets up the stand. She smiles at her handiwork with satisfaction. 

Wet clothes in hand, Spike comes down the stairs, wearing a pair of blue flannel long pants and a white T-shirt. His platinum curls are damp but neatly combed back. He looks decidedly grumpy. “This isn’t exactly my style either.”

Dawn grins at him. “You look fine. Plus, the blue brings out your eyes. Buffy will like that.”

“Buffy is *not* going to see me in this. As far as she is concerned, I’m not here. This evening is about you.”

Dawn is pleased at this, and she can’t help but tease, “Now who’s upset about what he has to wear?”

The tables are certainly turned. “Touché, Bit.” 

“Remember where the washer is?”

“Yeah. Give me a sec.” Spike heads into the kitchen.

“Grab the ornaments! They’re on the shelf in the basement. Labelled ‘Christmas.’”

“Got it!”

Several seconds later, Dawn hears the clothes washer turn on. Spike reappears with said Christmas box, which he sets on the coffee table. Then, he heads out to the front porch and unwraps the tree with Dawn watching. She props open the door, and Spike drags in the evergreen and sets it up with ease on the stand.

“You must do this everyday,” Dawn comments. 

Spike steps back and surveys the miraculously dry tree with a cocked head. “Not bad. Good choice.”

“Thanks.”

“I think, however, that the ornaments might have a bit of water damage.”

“What?! How?” Dawn is visibly upset and hurries to the box.

Spike joins her as she opens the sealed cardboard. “Basement flooded, and this was on the bottom shelf.”

“Oh yeah. Stupid bloody pipes.” Dawn’s eyes fill with tears. “Our first Christmas without Mom and all the ornaments are ruined?” She starts to dig through the box, pulling out ruined and moldy baubles. The mildew smell is strong. The more damage she views, the more she sobs. 

Spike hugs her shoulders and strokes her hair, choosing not to comment on her cursing. “Hey, now. We’ll wipe some of these off, and they’ll be good as new.” He holds up a red, plastic, vaguely bell-shaped ornament that was obviously cut by a young child. “Like this one.” He smudges away the grime with a thumb. “See. It comes off. Not sure what it’s supposed to be but. . .”

Dawn giggles through her tears and swipes at her cheek. She turns the ornament over in Spike’s hand and points to the crooked handwriting. “Buffy made that one in nursery school. It’s a bell.”

Spike studies the small object and marvels that he’s holding something a young and very innocent little girl once created. . . something Buffy made. “Well, that makes this one special, doesn’t it?”

Dawn nods. “I made some, too.” She rummages around and pulls out a dented silver star made out of tinfoil. “See?”

“Nice one, pet. Let’s clean these up.”

Together, they move the box and its contents to the kitchen. Using damp paper towels and a little mild liquid soap, they meticulously clean the ornaments that are salvageable. Dawn is relieved to find that there are more to save than she thought. 

In the bottom of the box, they find the tinsel. Spike holds up the mold-infested silver and gold strands. 

Dawn wrinkles her nose. “That, I think, is a complete goner.”

“Agreed.” Spike tosses the damaged decorations in the garbage where they land with a thunk against the plastic bottom. 

“What’ll we do in its place?”

“Got any popcorn?”

Dawn’s eyes grow round, and she throws away her pile of dirty paper towels. “Good idea!” 

In twenty or so minutes, the air is filled with the scent of freshly popped corn, and the all-Christmas-songs radio station softly plays in the background. Dawn and Spike move back into the living room with two large bowls of popcorn on the coffee table. They each have a needle and thread still attached to a spool. They break several pieces because their medium is still a little too warm, but soon, they find a rhythm. In that rhythm, Dawn decides to bring up something she’s been wondering about but hasn’t had the chance to ask because everyone has been going every which way since her sister came back. She figures Spike is the safer person to ask about it than Buffy.

“So,” she starts, studiously staring at her needle.

“So what, Bit?” Spike slides a piece into place.

“So what’s the deal between you and Buffy?”

Spike’s hand slips, and the piece of popcorn he’s wielding crumbles, bits of corn falling to the ground. “What do you mean?” He manages to sound casual and hold back his cough of surprise.

Dawn pretends she doesn’t notice and slips three more pieces of popcorn to join her growing strand. “Well, since she. . . well, you know, came back, you guys have been different around one another.”

“You noticed that, huh?”

She smiles and rolls her eyes a little. “Duh. A blind man could see it. The way you guys communicate. . . like when I got hurt. It’s like you’re in sync in a different way than before.”

“Well.” If Buffy were here, he would handle this a whole other way, complete with sarcasm, pride, and maybe a little hurt after what happened with his chip and in that abandoned building, but this is his Nibblet he’s talking to. She doesn’t deserve scathing comments. 

“So what’s up between the two of you? I mean, not that it’s my business, but it is a little weird. I mean, before she died, you two were barely even friends. . . more like acquaintances even though you helped a lot. And now. . . well, I saw how you treated her the night she came back. . . how gentle you were with her. I could tell. . . I could tell that you get it.”

“Get what?” He’s genuinely curious what she thinks.

“What she went through. . . digging h. . .” Dawn shakes her head. She can barely fathom what her sister went through. “Coming back the way she did. . . underground.” Spike is silent, so she continues, “I mean, you’re the only one of us who died and came back again. That has to. . .”

The popcorn blurs as her eyes fill with tears. She blinks them away, but Spike finishes the sentence for her, his tone gentle, “Change a person?”

“Yeah. And the heaven thing. . . that just makes it worse. I wonder if she’ll ever be the same.”

“Don’t worry, pet. Despite what your sister has been through, she’s strong. It may take her some time, but she’ll suss things out.” He’s quiet for a moment as he studies Dawn with her head bowed, trying to focus on stringing popcorn. “You’re right though. When a person goes through something like that, they’re never the same, but it doesn’t mean that she’s not still your sister.”

“You’ll help her, right?” Dawn looks him straight in the eye. “You’ll help her find herself again?”

He can’t resist her fortitude so like her sister’s, but he also can’t make false promises. “I’ll do my best.”

“Good. Thank you.”

They work in companionable silence, their respective popcorn ornamentation growing. 

Then, Dawn pulls her long hair into a low ponytail to get the dark strands out of her face. “And I’m okay that you guys are more than just friends.” 

“Oh really?” He lifts one eyebrow.

“Well, yeah. You’ve been there for us. . . for me, and it’s obvious that you care a lot about her.”

Spike nods as her blue eyes find his again. “I do.”

“But if you hurt her. . .”

“You have my permission to set me on fire.”

Dawn smiles a little and refocuses on her work. “In your sleep.”

“In my sleep,” he acknowledges.

“Good. I’ll remind you of that if needed. Hopefully, I won’t have to.” She pauses and then, “Thank you.”

Adjusting his string and popcorn, Spike asks, “For what?”

“For tonight. In case I forget to tell you later.” She holds up her needle and stretches one leg out before her. 

“You’re welcome, pet.” 

The Christmas tunes seem louder as they finish their work in silence, and an hour and a half later, they finish, lay the finished product on the tree branches, and step back to survey their work. 

“We did good,” Dawn observes, her good arm crossed over her cast. “I think it looks better than the regular garland.”

Spike matches her onlooker stance. “Well, if the regular garland is full of mold, it’s much better.”

“Buffy’s gonna be shocked.”

“Hopefully not in a hunt-down-Spike-and-stake-him state of shock.”

Dawn spontaneously hugs him. “Don’t worry. I won’t let her.” 

Spike accepts her affection. “Thanks, Bit.”

“Let’s go make hot chocolate!” She scampers away. “I already have the mugs and marshmallows out!”

“Well, as long as there are marshmallows.”

Although she’s disappeared around the corner, she pokes her head around the door frame. “I remembered that you like them!”

He can’t help but grin and think of Joyce. “I do!”

* * *

Standing with one foot propped halfway up her calf, Dawn is absently stirring the milk and chocolate combination in a saucepan on the stove while Spike perches on one of the breakfast bar stools and lines up marshmallows on the edge of the kitchen island. Every once in a while he pops one in his mouth. Steam winds its way up out of the pot and fills the air with the scent of warm milk and melting chocolate. 

“You know there’s an art to this, right?” She briefly holds up and points the wooden spoon at her vampire companion.

“There is?” Spike is curious.

“You have to heat it hot enough to be really hot without burning the milk while also mixing the chocolate in really well.” She dunks the spoon back into the liquid and gives it a good swirl. 

Spike looks thoughtful. “Makes sense.”

“Mom taught me. I had to attempt this many times before. . .” 

Without warning, the front door opens and a voice calls, “Dawn! I’m home!” 

Spike moves without thinking, but instead of heading out the back door, he chooses the basement, partly because he isn’t sure how he’ll explain his clothes being in the. . . washing machine.

Dawn manages to find her voice as the basement door softly clicks closed, “I’m here!”

“Why and how do we have a Christmas tree?” Buffy appears in the doorway, her eyes shining despite her tone of suspiciousness. 

Dawn tries to act casual but really isn’t sure what to say. She swallows. “Surprise?” Setting aside the spoon and picking up the pot, she adds, “Hot chocolate after a long night of researching?”

A scuffling sound comes from the basement followed by a muffled curse. Buffy’s eyes narrow, and she hurries to the basement door and throws it open. “Spike!”

“Um, yeah?” comes Spike’s voice out of the darkness. 

Buffy contemplates yelling at him, but instead, she chooses, “What are you doing here?”

After a few seconds of silence, he says, “Keeping a promise I made.”

Dawn snags a third mug out of the cabinet and begins pouring the finished hot chocolate. Buffy ignores her. 

“A promise to do what?”

“Help her set up for Christmas,” he admits.

“When did you make this promise? I don’t remember this.”

“Well, um. . .”

Dawn sprinkles some marshmallows in one of the mugs. “He promised this summer. He wanted my Christmas to be a nice one since I lost you and Mom.”

Buffy glances back at her sister, her eyes suddenly sad again. “Oh.”

Dawn gingerly thrusts a mug at her. “Here. It’s a good thing. He wanted to surprise you, too.”

Buffy lets go of the door and takes the proffered drink. “Oh.” Holding the mug in both hands, she relishes the warmth. “Well, the tree looks pretty. Makes the house smell all Christmas-y. I almost forgot.”

Dawn fills her drink with marshmallows. “I know.” Her two words are a commentary on all the things Buffy just said.

A smiles spreads over Buffy’s face. “I don’t even want to know how you got that tree here, do I?”

Dawn’s eyes dart sideways. “Probably not.” 

“Hey! The tree is paid for!” Spike calls up from the basement.

“Better be.” Buffy takes a sip of the hot chocolate. It’s perfect. . . just like her mom used to make. 

Dawn remembers something else. “And *I* did not solve any mysteries. . . although I did improvise with a tree branch. . . sort of.”

“I *really* don’t want to know about that.” Buffy sighs. At least, her sister is intact. . . or as intact as she can be with a broken arm. “Spike! Get up here.”

“I dunno.” His words are barely perceptible.

“Why not?” Buffy turns to the basement and squints into the shadows. 

“’Cause well. . .”

Dawn can’t hold back her giggles.

“Spike. Get up here. . . now,” Buffy commands.

“Fine.” Footfalls resound on the steps, and Spike appears, holding his clean but wet clothes in one hand. 

“What on earth are you wearing?” Buffy can’t keep the amusement out of her voice.

Spike is embarrassed. “I got wet in the process of getting the tree, and there was nothing else to wear. . .” 

On impulse, Buffy leans forward and stands on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “You look nice in blue. Go put your clothes in the dryer and come have some hot chocolate.” 

Spike’s mouth hangs open, and Dawn resists the urge to say, “I told you so.” He disappears down the steps. He doesn’t have to be told twice. . . at least tonight. It’s Dawn’s night.

This time, Dawn hears the dryer start up, and Spike rejoins them in the kitchen. She passes him a mug, and he adds in his own marshmallows.

He raises the cup and gives her a nod. “Thanks, Bit.”

With that, Buffy and Spike settle down on the stools, and Dawn leans on the island across from them. For a moment. . . just a moment, they all relax and enjoy each other’s company, sipping hot chocolate and listening to Christmas music. Dawn thinks that she couldn’t ask for a better Christmas present.

The end.


End file.
